


The Betting Kind

by MFLuder



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Anal Beads, Crying, Established Relationship, Lingerie, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Spanking, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:08:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21775738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MFLuder/pseuds/MFLuder
Summary: Clark wins a bet and Bruce is the prize.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 10
Kudos: 283
Collections: Batfam Kinkmas Exchange 2019, DC Universe





	The Betting Kind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Prompt: _Clark punishes Bruce by making him dress in lingerie for a day, plugging him full of Clark's cum with vibrating anal beads and not allowing him to climax the entire day. Bonus for spanking and overstimulated crying Bruce!_
> 
> [Bruce's lingerie](https://www.dhresource.com/0x0s/f2-albu-g7-M01-55-C3-rBVaSlvvMleAT2EgAAFU4l3SXnk893.jpg/2pcs-mens-lingerie-sheer-mesh-wetlook-see.jpg), courtesy of the prompt.
> 
> Very ambiguous fandom-wise, except for how Bruce is taller than Clark. #dealwithit
> 
> Gezhu, I tried to fit as many things in as I could; I hope you enjoy it!

Clark comes home from the office exactly at 4:15 – only a few minutes late because he stopped a robbery and saved Elsie Thomas’ cat from its impossible perch on her fire escape.

The vision that greets him when he opens the door and sets down his briefcase leaves him grinning and fiddling his glasses, not from nerves, but from excitement.

“You went through with it.”

Bruce rolls his eyes, looking every bit the Batman despite his outfit and despite the lack of mask, the unusual soft wave to his hair. “You knew I was. I know the power of those ears.”

“Still. It’s one thing to guess; it’s another to see.”

“Bruce Wayne does not back down from a bet.”

“And Batman doesn’t back down from a challenge,” Clark says, laughter creeping into his voice.

“No, he doesn’t,” Bruce responds, a smile making it into his tone with the upward tilt of his lips.

Bruce Wayne – _Batman_ – is casually stirring what smells like a butter sauce. Pounded-out veal sits atop some parchment paper on a pan. The lemon is fragrant, the oven still warm; a picture of domesticity. Not very Batman-like at all.

He leans forward casually. “You know other things I heard?”

Clark flicks the switch of a small electronic box in his pants pocket. Suddenly, there’s a faint buzzing sound, muffled by flesh, but still more distinct now than when he was at The Daily Planet, sitting in boring meetings about editorial review and assignments for the week.

Bruce’s eyes flutter shut, and he drops the wooden spoon back into the pan, gripping the edge of the stove, knuckles white. “Fuck you,” he grits out, tension obvious in voice and his muscles as he rides out the vibration.

Clark switches the box off again and watches as Bruce loosens nearly instantaneously, though his cheeks remain red and his eyes are glazed.

“ _That_ , and your moans. I also know you manfully resisted touching yourself all day.”

“A bet is a bet,” Bruce gets out, eyes wary on Clark as he picks up the spoon again.

He walks closer, fitting himself right up against Bruce’s backside, letting his fingers wander over the other man’s hips, taking in the scent of him; the cologne he likes so much, and under that, the scent of sweat from the exertion Clark’s been putting him through today, the scent of precome in his underwear, and even more subtle, the scent of tension and frustration because Clark had decreed he wasn’t allowed to come or even touch himself all day.

“You’ve been so good for me,” he whispers, letting his tongue flick over Bruce’s ear, keeping his breath warm and then cooling it as he blows across the wetness.

Bruce grunts. Now that Clark is here, he’s trying to keep the moans in. That’ll change, though.

“Have you had enough, babe? You want me to stop? Just say the word.” His fingers fiddle with the mesh resting on Bruce’s hips.

“No,” Bruce says. 

Clark smiles. Bruce won’t ever give in. It’s going to make the night more rewarding – for both of them – than the day of sexual tension has been punishment.

“Now,” Bruce states, voice firm once more, “sit down and let me finish dinner. _Honey_.”

Clark chuckles, but shrugs off his tan jacket and does as told. It’s probably the last time he’ll let Bruce boss him around. Tonight, at least. As he sits, Bruce slides him a beer, domesticity inching up a further notch. He leans back and finally takes in the full view Bruce is giving him.

The other man is turned back to the stove and so his view is of his hard ass. And by that, he does mean his entire ass; Bruce is dressed only in a piece of black lingerie that Clark picked out specifically for today. The top, made of lace, is low and taught across Bruce’s muscled back. From the lace swings sheer mesh that just barely covers the curve of where his ass meets thigh. The mesh only emphasizes the thin string that peeks out of the top of his ass. It also hides the string of beads that fill him up.

When Bruce turns, and dumps green beans in a strainer, Clark can see the outline of his dick, encased in the mesh thong, the sleeve snug over his growing erection. He chews his lip and fingers the box in his pocket once more.

When Bruce has plated up the vegetables, the veal, and mashed potatoes, arranging them in a manner befitting a restaurant – or, more accurately – fit for Alfred’s approval, and turns around, Clark flicks the on switch.

“Clark,” Bruce grits out, fingers tight on the plates, a furrow in his brow. 

Clark responds by ticking the speed up. The plates land heavily on the table as Bruce lets out a hiss, his head tossed back. He’s a stunning picture: erection fully sprung, his nipples perky under the criss-cross lace top, the arch of his neck where Clark can see the purple bloom of a hickey he managed to leave this morning.

He turns it off and Bruce falls into the chair beside him. “Pure evil,” he murmurs.

“Eat, darling,” he says, smirk on his face. “We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

He lets dinner go by without trying to get a gasp from Bruce. Seeing the man, his eyes the color of steel, his hair damp around the neck, the way the lace moves with him as he drinks from his wine glass, lifts his fork to his mouth; it’s enough. They make small talk, Clark asking after the boys, Bruce inquiring after Lois’ latest project.

They sit quietly through another glass of wine for Bruce. With no more sneak attacks from Clark, and the alcohol, he’s looking more relaxed. His erection has faded once more.

Perfect.

He stands. “Get ready for me. I’ll clean up.”

Bruce tenses again, his shoulders inching up. But there’s a glimmer in his suddenly hooded eyes. Anticipation.

Clark forces himself to tune out Bruce as he does the dishes, cleans the table. He walks into the bathroom from the kitchen instead of the bedroom, keeping himself away from the other man as long as he can stand, taking a brief shower, taking off his glasses. He puts away Clark Kent and leaves only Clark; some amalgamation of the man of steel and the reporter – a boy from Kansas who is interested not in the world but engaging in some kinky sex with his ridiculously rich and menacing boyfriend who is currently wearing a piece of lingerie specifically made for men – all because he lost a ridiculous bet.

He lets out a snort as he wipes away the fog in the mirror, taking himself in. His entire head of hair is curly, and he does nothing to tame it, though his iconic Superman curl joins the others. His body is pale despite the heat of the water he used, but his cheeks are highlighted pink, a blush he fails to hide, thinking about those vibrating beads nestled in Bruce, his dick cradled in soft mesh.

It's enough to make him grow hard.

Then, he opens the door from the bathroom to the bedroom and the sight that greets him has him fully erect instantly. It also makes him growl.

“What are you doing?”

Bruce’s hand stops from where it had been working himself, caressing his dick, tugging, _touching_. He looks wanton, body stretched out on the bed, back arched the slightest bit, his thick legs spread to give himself room, fabric of the nightie bunched up around his hips.

“You said get ready for you.” It’s Bruce’s normal voice: efficient, serious.

“I said _no touching_.” Clark strides forward until the edge of the bed hits his knees. He drops the electronic box on the nightstand. He towers over Bruce. He knows he is not threatening, not actually, not to the man who keeps his Kryptonite, but Bruce trembles anyway. He blinks up at Clark, eyes a dark blue, hair tousled where it touches the pillow, lips parted. He is every bit the playboy Bruce, but for his eyes only. There’s no simpering smile, no vapid gaze, just Bruce, one of the most stunningly attractive men on this entire planet. All the more precious to Clark – to Superman – because of who he is and what he does.

He continues, “Baby, you were being _so good_. You know I have to punish you now.”

“Punish.” Bruce delivers it flatly, but Clark knows his heart, intimately, and it picks up, beating more rapid. He wonders if Bruce knew this would happen, knew the reaction Clark would have.

Clark puts nothing past the detective. Batman knows him better than he knows himself, sometimes. Maybe….

No, Clark shakes his head of _that_ idea. That’d be ridiculous.

“Punish,” he restates.

The cock of Bruce’s head, the way the glint of grey at his temples flashes in the low light, the smirk on his lips all render a challenge. Clark is as bound to meeting challenges as Batman is.

“You’re going to have to wait longer to come,” he says, moving around the bed, watching Bruce watch him. “And I’m not going to make it easy on you.”

He sits on the edge, his feet touching the floor. He shifts, makes himself comfortable. He almost wishes now he’d kept his boxers on. It wouldn’t keep him from being hard but contained might make it easier on both of them. Less comical, too. 

Not that he’s feeling like joking. No, he feels strangely powerful. Strange, because despite Bruce’s human status, it is usually Clark who feels powerless when they’re alone like this. That Bruce is allowing this, giving Clark control, when he’s a man who survives only because he always maintains control…it’s more intoxicating than any physical action Clark might perform tonight.

“Come here,” he commands.

Bruce continues to eye him for a moment, like he’s considering resisting, but his eyes have turned to a more clear, bright blue, and Clark knows his interest is piqued. He crawls over to Clark.

“Good.”

“What now?” Bruce asks, humor evident in his voice.

“Get on my lap,” Clark says.

Bruce begins to climb into his lap, about to swing his leg over when Clark stops him with a hand.

“No.” His voice is steel. “Ass up.”

Bruce’s choke is immensely satisfying. “You mean…?”

“Do it.”

“Clark. I am a grown man—”

“Do it.” He lets some of his Superman voice leak through: the soft, commanding tone few disobey.

It’s incredibly rare for Bruce to blush, but blush he does, the color inching over his face, his ears, and down his neck. He doesn’t want to do this, that much is obvious in the reticence of his movements as he leans over and settles himself on Clark’s legs. But he does it, somehow still graceful, and the wave of affection Clark feels for him overwhelms him for a brief moment. He runs a gentle hand down the other man’s backside, trying to comfort him, like he might a spooked horse.

Bruce is a large man – taller than Clark – but Clark is big, too, and he spreads his legs a little wider, enough for the man to fit across his lap; feet hanging just off the bed on one side, hands gripping the edge on the other. His ass is pert and waiting, mesh hiding the scars, but not his color or muscle.

Clark lets his hand raise and then land softly on that ass, reveling in the flinch Bruce produces. If this were actual torture, _actual_ punishment, the man would barely blink an eye. But here, like this, with _them_ , he’s as nervous as a bird.

Given the elevated but steady ticking of his heartbeat, nervous isn’t the right word. Unsure, perhaps. Sure of Clark himself, but not his actions. Excited, definitely.

He caresses Bruce’s cheeks, rubbing and massaging. He lets the mesh create friction, warm up the skin, both of his hand and Bruce’s posterior. It’s soft so it doesn’t scratch, but the unusual texture still heightens the feeling. He can feel Bruce’s dick poking him in the thigh, but he ignores it.

Clark slides the mesh out of the way and he parts Bruce’s ass, finally seeing the ring that is attached to the beads he’d slid into Bruce this morning before leaving for work, after he fucked him.

“Shame the box is all the way up at the headboard. I would love to see your hole react to the vibrations up close.”

Bruce whines, shifts a little. No doubt feeling exposed.

He tugs the ring a little, until the first bead slips out, its wide circumference pulling Bruce’s rim wide and bulging for a brief moment, before it slides out and he closes around the rest of the toy. It gets a groan from the man, muffled in the bedsheets.

“You amaze me,” Clark says, calm, like this is a normal conversation, like they’re not both hard enough to cut glass, like he isn’t casually testing Bruce’s rim with his finger, feeling the other beads shift inside him. “The level of trust. The things your body does. That you can be so full of sorrow and grief and pain, and yet so loving, so trusting. Of me. Where once you despised me.”

“That feeling’s beginning to come back,” Bruce growls as Clark tugs again, popping out the second bead.

Clark shushes him, even as he encourages more noise by pushing the bead back in, watching as Bruce’s hole swallows it greedily. He rubs one ass cheek, then the other before spreading them again, this time as wide as he can with one hand. He taps the flesh deep inside a few times. Just light taps, ones he wishes he could do with his dick instead, mark up the dark skin and hair here with his precome.

“So good,” he croons. “If only you’d obeyed me. I could make you come like this, couldn’t I? Just push these beads in and out of your hole until you couldn’t take it anymore. Let you rub off in my lap. Fuck you after.

“But.” He spits, letting it fall right on Bruce’s rim, where he rubs it in, a little on the skin, some on the biggest bead so he can push it back in. Being about an inch wide, it takes a moment longer than the last and the other man grunts when it finally slips back in.

Clark lets his cheeks go, massaging hard enough that it jostles the beads around, pushing Bruce down onto his legs, closer to the bed, teasing him with a bit of friction against his dick, before letting up. When Bruce continues to squirm, tries to maintain the contact, he lifts his knees slightly, putting him off-balance and causing him frustration.

“You didn’t listen, Bruce. This is your fault.”

Finally, he pulls back and lets his hand drop, heavy, though not particularly hard, on the meat of Bruce’s ass. This time the flinch comes too late, the deed done.

“You want to be good for me, yeah? If you can keep from coming through your punishment, I’ll fuck you. Fill you up again.”

He reaches underneath Bruce’s body, rubs right above his dick where the muscle bulges, presses down. He knows it’ll make Bruce feel like he has to pee, like he’s full.

“Can you still feel it from this morning? Have the beads kept you full, kept you wet enough that my come is still in there? What do you think two loads of come will feel like?”

Clark grimaces even as he says it, but it’s also a little inside joke. Bruce insists he comes more, hotter, thicker, than any human. Says it’s a miracle he doesn’t come physically harder, that his ejaculate doesn’t tear through humans. He calls it super come, sometimes. Joking, of course, but he also seems to really enjoy those unusual aspects. That, or Bruce is just a come whore.

Bruce’s moan at his words, seems to confirm the latter thought.

“Alright. I promise. Let you feel that. Maybe plug you up again after. Maybe let my dick be that plug. But you gotta be good through your punishment. You can do that, can’t you?”

Bruce nods, inhaling heavily through his nose.

Clark nods back, even though Bruce’s eyes are locked on the bed beneath him. He raises his hand again and spanks, the sound making a sharp _smack_ sound. Bruce grunts and twitches; less than a flinch, though.

He begins a rhythm, not consistent in hardness or place, but in pattern, at least. It’s enough that it lulls Bruce into complacency at first, falling quiet and still, enduring it, even as his cheeks turn red, even as he grows impossibly harder, and his breath quickens. Soon his entire ass and upper thighs are red, turning cherry under the hits. Occasionally the mesh lingerie falls back and muffles the sound or hit, before Clark moves it back up.

Soon enough, though, Bruce begins to let out little hitches of moans, louder than his breaths and he begins squirming again, aiming for friction and aiming for some kind of release. He presses his face into the blanket and his hands grasp for purchase on it, back muscles clenching and releasing, scars flexing with him.

Again, Clark knows that this is for him. It’s not that Bruce is putting on a show, but rather, he’s allowing his pleasure, his pain to show for Clark. Something he doesn’t let many people see. He switches up the rhythm finally, smacking the inside of one cheek, then the other, moving closer in, one hand holding Bruce spread. He lets his hand fall heavier, sharper, sometimes the edge of his hand, sometimes the flat palm, sometimes only his fingers. Then he begins to cup his hand, getting as much surface area as he can and that’s when he notices it.

Bruce tugs his face up, dragging in a wet breath and Clark sees tears leaking from his squeezed-shut eyes.

“Oh, Bruce,” he says, awed. He returns to massaging for a bit, trying to soothe away the hurt. It’s only going to make it worse when he hits again, but the sight Bruce is offering him is too beautiful.

He brings his thighs together, trapping Bruce’s dick tight in between them. He refuses to make this easy on the man. He knows Bruce can handle it, but the crying, it’s making Clark _wild_.

Clark tilts Bruce’s hips up, exposing more skin to his hand, to his sight. It pushes his face back into the bed, but as Clark hits again, the hardest yet, his sob is still clear.

“Just a few more,” he says, and Clark himself is panting and he feels as ready to blow as Bruce probably is, with zero contact on his dick. Bruce is invitingly red and with his ass up like this, he can see the ring of the beads, the thin black string of his panties, wants it to be himself in between those cheeks, can barely be patient enough to torture Bruce longer, but god, the fucking tears.

He wishes he could feel what Bruce is feeling in this exact moment.

He strikes again. And again. Harder, each time. Still, there is no protest, only more leaking tears and Bruce driving his hips down so that his dick rubs in between Clark’s thighs.

A particularly wracking sob sounds and Clark knows he’s close. He’s counting on Bruce’s stubbornness to get him through this, the overstimulation, the pain, the pleasure, everything, to not come. He pushes his hips up once more, denying Bruce the clench of his thighs, keeps him spread enough for him to smack his ass and pull the string of beads from his ass in one go, watching as Bruce opens and clenches over each bead in less than five seconds, leaving him gaping and clenching at nothing, so open that, with his advanced eye sight, Clark can see his come sitting inside him.

He remains still, watches as Bruce clutches and clenches and through sheer force of will, refrains from coming, even as his body wracks through the motions like he is. The movement pushes him back down into Clark’s lap and when his genitals touch Clark’s leg, he lets out one more sob and rolls over so that his back is against Clark’s stomach, ensuring nothing but air is touching his dick.

After a moment, Clark drops the beads and lets his hand fall onto Bruce’s waist, caressing skin through mesh, providing stability and grounding. He’s never pushed Bruce this hard. He runs his other hand through Bruce’s hair, feeling the difference in each strand, the texture of the grey versus the black, petting at the general softness of the locks.

Eventually, he lifts Bruce’s body up in his arms and turns, laying him out on the bed, still sexy in his lingerie, cock a vivid red and so hard it looks like it hurts, tear tracks drying on his face.

He rests against Bruce’s side, leans in for a kiss, a simple press of lips against his full mouth, tasting salt and lemon.

Bruce’s eyes flicker open, bore into Clark’s. His pupils are blown, nearly drowning out the blue at this point. He sounds far more like himself, though, when he says, grumpy, “My ass fucking hurts.”

The frankness startles a laugh out of Clark. When he comes down, he looks back at Bruce.

“That was…are you alright?”

Bruce grumbles, “Of course. You don’t hit _that_ hard.”

Clark snorts and tilts Bruce’s head with a hand. He licks at a tear stain. He shares the saltiness with a kiss. This one is deep, moving, loving. It gets desperate at the end, Bruce turning towards him, vying for dominance for the first time of the night.

“Ass hurts, but you still want to be fucked?” Clark teases.

“You made a promise. I’ve held up my end of this bet. I’ve been waiting all day, Clark. I’ve been wearing this godforsaken contraption for _hours_.”

“But you look so pretty.”

Bruce growls. “Call me pretty again and I’ll hide kryptonite in your underwear drawer.”

“Dashing. Handsome. Beautiful. Stunning…”

Clark keeps listing adjectives that aren’t ‘pretty’ even as he rolls over atop Bruce, pressing him down into the bed, noting the squirm it gets him because Bruce truly is sore, even if he’s endured far worse. Bruce finally stops him with a searing kiss, devouring his mouth, biting and licking, then stealing Clark’s tongue from his own mouth and holding it captive in his.

Clark begins grinding hard between Bruce’s thighs, and he grips a bit too tight and manages to tear the strap of his nightie, desperate to reach skin, to mark his shoulder as red as his ass. They both pause and stare and then Clark shrugs and rips it all off, easy as paper tearing. The lace was nice over Bruce’s pectorals, but when he can see the scars and flex of his muscles unhindered, it leaves him gasping with desire.

Bruce’s hands are tangled in his hair, pulling him back down, rubbing his still mesh-covered dick against Clark’s, greedy now that he has permission. Clark pulls away, though, and flips him over, easy, to Bruce’s dismayed grunt.

He cups his hips, tugging them up, getting Bruce on his knees. He reaches for the lube in the nightstand; the beads have left him open and relaxed, but Clark is significantly bigger. He also grabs a small vibrator, finger-sized, and tosses it down by his knees for the moment.

Wetting his fingers with slightly sticky liquid, he carefully spreads Bruce’s cheeks once more, careful of the redness and stimulation he’s causing. Even so, Bruce flinches, this time not in anticipation but with pain – then he relaxes a moment later at Clark’s cool, gentle touch. He adds a cooling breath, not cold enough to freeze, but enough to ease the flaming skin for a moment or two. He moves aside the black string of the panties, considering ripping them, too, but there’s something about the thin black band standing out against the redness of Bruce’s skin, so he simply keeps it off to the side with his hand gripping Bruce’s cheek.

He uses two fingers to rim Bruce’s hole. It’s loose enough to slip them in, now, with no resistance. He reaches in, further and further, until he touches his own come, and uses it to add to the wetness of Bruce’s hole, inside and out.

Bruce shoves back, always a pushy bottom, needing and wanting more instantly. Clark supposes he should take pity on him, having him kept stuffed with come and toys all day, but the visual of his asshole opening and sucking his fingers in is too compelling.

He pulls them out and inserts three this time, to the sound of Bruce’s gasp. He finds his prostate quickly and rubs against it once, twice, listening to Bruce’s breath ratchet up again. He’s so damned tempted to milk him, rub on his prostate until he comes over and over, until he’s coming dry. But that might come with another bet.

“Clark,” Bruce breathes, and the desperate, close-to-those-sobs sound is enough to make Clark cooperate.

He wets his dick and pushes into Bruce. It’s easy to do so, a space carved for him, even as Bruce still feels tight around his girth. He pushes deeper and deeper until Bruce’s ass is pressing against his pelvis, until he hears the tinge of discomfort and pleasure that accompanies that touch. He pulls back an inch – and then slams in, hard as a spanking.

Bruce’s big hands tense in the sheets, rucking them up even as he’s pushed into the pillows. His grunt sounds pained, but his hips rocking back immediately into Clark’s belie the noise.

Clark fucks him like this for several minutes, grinding his dick inside of Bruce, forcing the pain in his ass to continue, even smacking it another time or two as he shoves back inside, urgent and hot. Bruce’s moans are worth the dirty looks he’s going to get tomorrow every time Bruce tries to sit down.

Then he finds the other man’s prostate and he hits it unerringly. Bruce instantly tightens, clenching down and he grows silent, teeth grinding, as he tends to when he’s close and getting fucked. Clark uses his strength to pull Bruce up and onto his knees, pressing his back against Clark’s chest. The angle changes, deepens, and he reaches down to find the bullet in the sheets and clicks it on, placing it just below Bruce’s dick.

In less than ten seconds, Bruce is coming with a moan deep and guttural. His brow is pinched, and his eyes squeeze shut; he looks pained, but the wracking orgasm continues and come sprays over his chest, over the sheets, and the pillows. It dribbles down to the vibrator Clark continues pressing into him; he can feel the vibrations passing through Bruce’s body and into his, and he keeps thrusting even as he starts to come himself, a load that feels huge.

With a hitch, Bruce’s body tightens again as though he feels Clark come inside him, hot and thick and with the sustained vibration, he comes again. Less come this time, but Clark sees the tears start again and his hands push down at Clark’s, trying to get away from the bullet.

“Sh, sh,” he whispers. “One more time, baby. It’ll be worth it.”

He tears off the panties, freeing Bruce’s cock entirely. He jacks Bruce off, other hand still maintaining the vibrator, biting down on his shoulder, feeling the man’s burning ass pressed against him and he too comes again, as Bruce clenches down on him a third time, a full-on sob wracking his body for the second time this night.

He finally clicks off the toy, tossing it away to join the beads on the floor. He keeps his hold on Bruce’s member, though, feeling it as it finally softens, still filling his palm, but mostly with weight and girth than length. He lets Bruce rest his head on his shoulder, kisses his cheek, his hair, anything he can reach while the man comes down.

Sometime later, he lets them both back down onto the bed, stretching out, and he pulls out, soft and gentle, though Bruce still whimpers. Come dribbles out of his well-used hole and Clark reaches down to thumb it back in, keep him stuffed full. Bruce’s eyes are closed, and his breathing is still heavy. He’s soft and warm, though; relaxed and at total ease.

Clark kisses his shoulder in apology and moves from the bed to the bathroom, wetting a cloth and wiping himself down. He comes back out and wipes down Bruce’s front, wipes down the pillows before flipping them over. He’ll do laundry tomorrow, but right now, Bruce is too out of it to move.

He moves around back to wipe Bruce there, but when he reaches in between to clean him out, Bruce murmurs, “Don’t.”

“I know you hurt, Bruce, but I want to clean you—”

“Not that,” Bruce says, voice stronger, deeper, sated. “Want you in me, still. You promised you’d plug me up.”

“I—” Clark is nonplussed. It was a bit of dirty talk, not something he’d actually meant. He didn’t want to make Bruce uncomfortable. Or well, any more uncomfortable than he had. His ass was less red now, but still reminiscent of a sunburn.

“Clark.”

Clark sets down the cloth and crawls into bed. 

Bruce sighs. “Your fingers. Please.”

Bruce never says please. Clark will give him anything.

He pushes his body up against Bruce’s, wrapping one arm under and around Bruce so that he can pet his broad chest, feel his chest hair. The other arm he wiggles between their bodies and tests the area between Bruce’s cheeks. He’s warm, but not on fire. His hole is puffy against his fingertips, and come leaks onto his finger, but after some gentle prodding, he seems no worse for the wear.

“Two or three?” he asks, softly, rubbing his face against Bruce’s thick hair.

“Three,” the other man says, still riding his high, body dead still and voice sounding faraway.

Clark slowly inserts three fingers, feeling his come oozing out in between them. He uses his thumb to gather it up and ease it back in. His three fingers are enough to fill Bruce and keep it from spilling out again.

There’s a contented sigh and a little squirming, as though Bruce is testing his “plug”. His own hand moves down and presses right where Clark had earlier, like he’s feeling how full he is, before it falls from his body onto the bed and he’s out faster than Clark has ever witnessed shy of him physically passing out.

He wonders which Bat kid – or terrifyingly, which Super kid – their next bet will be over and whether or not he’ll let Bruce win this time, even if he has advance knowledge, like he did this time about Tim and Jason – thanks to an _unfortunate_ experience with his enhanced hearing.

Clark breathes in the scent of sex and sweat and come, feels Bruce warm around his fingers, relaxed against his chest, and gives off his own happy sigh. Maybe next time he _will_ use his dick, see how long the city allows Bruce to be his warmer. He lets himself join Bruce in sleep, pleased with the new kink of Bruce’s he’s discovered and the possibilities.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow and chat with me [on tumblr](http://mf-luder-xf.tumblr.com)!


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